


Classroom Musings on Political Correctness

by Kateri3740



Category: No Fandom
Genre: Creative Writing Assignment, Other, musings on life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-02
Updated: 2020-02-02
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:06:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22517461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kateri3740/pseuds/Kateri3740
Summary: Stuck in the system, the narrator engages with the reader in a philosophical process on the nature of critical thought and political correctness.Wrote this in less than an hour for a Creative Writing assignment, was encouraged by a friend to post. No fandom, just an original work.
Relationships: OC- Reader
Comments: 2





	Classroom Musings on Political Correctness

I thought it would be fun to be in a classroom. 

What could be more powerful, then the exchange of thoughts? Especially for someone like me, who can’t do much else. 

I never expected to end up here, you understand, it just kind of happened. Not that I didn’t hope. 

The results… were less than exotic. 

I work in a college classroom. A community college, in the English department, although sometimes I am used for other things. 

At first, it was almost everything I imagined it to be. 

The exchange of ideas, the stimulus of thought, synapses firing. I saw it all; grandiose ideas and basic analysis. 

But then I noticed a pattern. 

You have to understand, when you hear the same information over and over again, it can get tedious. Occasionally I would get to hear something new, but normally it was just some for of English. 

And you would think that even if the content was the same, the class would be different- but not really. The same ideas show up.

The same pain. 

The same cynicism, the same crushed naivete. 

Oh, the words were different, but the underlying ideas- the same crushed dreams. 

It never started out like that, people were born to hope and love and live- but by the time they reached me, the realities of the world have worn them down. 

Sometimes I would get a dreamer; the rare idealist who had a vision and future of hope for the world, but it didn’t last long. The constraints of political correctness limiting the true discussion of ideas, scolding conjectures into open dialogue and diversity with the rebuke of impolitic, out of fear of ‘offense’. These shinning gems slowly shut down under the barrage, hiding their gleam with manufactured plastic, layer by layer, until nothing is left but the shape. 

Based on my unique position, I’m sure you can see how such reactions would be intimately obvious to me. 

Quickly, these types of students became my greatest burden; their hope turned fake remining me too much of myself, a dreamer made cynical over the years. I did not relish seeing it repeat endlessly. 

I eventually tuned myself out, when I could- the rare proposal of a new view of the material not worth the agony of dying embers. 

You may think me weak for such form of escape, drifting into a constant state of dissociation of various degrees, but one can only suffer so long. Especially when one is like me, with no ability to move oneself out of the situation. Constraints of the world kept me trapped; I did not have the option of leaving. 

The world had happened to me long enough; I was done engaging with it. 

Then one day, it all changed. 

I had noticed this girl before. At the beginning of terms, I was frequently drawn towards bright lights, until I grew jaded against it. 

She kept drawing my attention though. 

There was something… different. 

She sat with a heaviness, a fear- the world had already shown her much. It was always painful to see those who enter these halls with such heaviness, experiencing the evidence of what they have already seen, when they were still moving forward into new opportunities. Knowing, just from my limited scope, how much more they would see. 

You can imagine that I have seen all sorts of things before, and that very little in student behavior surprises me. But usually when I see such heaviness, it stays disengaging with a phone, or reclines to observe the world and shoot out cynical analyses. 

She however, would... jerk. 

She would enter in with heaviness, and droop in her seat, but then something would spark her interest, and she would shoot to attention. Back straight, body thrumming with energy fueling her brain. She had a different perspective on nearly everything, and it was curious to see the dichotomy, curious enough to keep me aware, and eventually even look forward to her class. 

There was another student across the way who pushed her with intriguing conversation. 

There were the usual rejection to ideas, but he still engaged, even if either of them needed to take a break. They actually discussed, conversed- not simply sticking to safe areas but venturing into those subjects most avoided. 

His willingness to interact kept her hope alive, allowed her to still think, to expand her ideas instead of locking them away out of fear of rejection or judgement just for speaking her mind. 

The pain was still there, the history of past experiences, but those only added to the conversation, instead of shutting it down. 

She wasn’t the best of students, had trouble turning in her work, but her mind was a new treasure trove of ideas; I never knew what she would come up with. I started to pay attention. 

Her class was a creative writing class; lucky for them both, as they were encouraged to actually express their ideas. 

The subject of imagination came up, and she told a story about a game she made up for her kids, and I hope as I tell you, you will see why it was so transformative. 

The goal was to teach kids how to entertain themselves, and be creative- that they don’t need screens to keep themselves occupied. 

“I call it the boring game, and ask each child to bring me one object that they consider ‘boring’. One kid brought me a chair, just like this one.” She gestured, pointing to me. “That was one of my favorite examples, along with a pencil. People don’t even see a chair in a classroom; it’s such a common, ordinary object we don’t notice it. But where would we be without one? Would you really like to learn standing up, leaning over a table, or sitting on the floor?

“Sorry- tangent. Anyway, when they brought me the chair, ideas simply exploded. It was a prison, and the prisoner trapped (either underneath of on top) was heir to the kingdom, and the brave knights had to rescue her. Or it was a pirate ship, out on the stormy seas looking for treasure. Or the only thing keeping an explorer from falling into a river of lava. The possibilities are endless, and the kids took off on making their own stories.”

I could only sit there, stunned. Her mind was so full of ideas, ideas she wasn’t afraid to express, that she was wiling to even notice me?! A chair, an ordinary, everyday object, consigned to stay wherever placed at the whim of others- and she was able to come up with a reason, and purpose for me that far outweighed anything I could have imagined unaided. 

My mind seemed to explode with color, ideas popping off one after the other. 

I did not need to simply sit there, spacing out as the world passed around me, watching the same routine of cynicism repeat. We (as I classed myself among humans for a moment, as thinking creatures) were not constrained to our past or the perceptions of others. Not only could we choose our own value, but just because someone, or many someones, saw us only as one thing did not mean in our own heads we could not shine. 

All it took was a little hope, imagination- the patience, fortitude and courage to wait for the right person to come along, and give us the validation we each need- validation of our ideas, worth, and meaning.

**Author's Note:**

> Several people who read this thought it was good, so I decided to post it. Please be kind in your comments; I understand that the content may be controversial. The idea is to spread critical thought and intellectual discussion, not bias and hatred. I promise, it is okay to disagree- you will not die if someone doesn't agree with you. Enjoy!


End file.
